


Slow, Slow, Quick, Quick

by ayatsujik



Series: Threads and Times [7]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayatsujik/pseuds/ayatsujik
Summary: Natsume and Natori try out a first time. That kind of first time. Mildly NSFW.





	Slow, Slow, Quick, Quick

**Author's Note:**

> They don't go all the way (so don't get your expectations up), but they manage. Written to Cocco's Plan C and St. Vincent's Masseduction albums on loop. This doesn't explain all the awkward writing of awkward sex in here. One can but try.
> 
> A standalone piece that can also be read with the other chapters of the Threads and Time series (includes a tiny reference to [Waxing Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12185040)).

  
愛し愛されたい  
愛し方がわからない  
愛され方は　より難題

そこには入れてみたい  
入り方がわからない  
Hotな所まで　どうたい？

want to love, want to be loved  
don't know how to love  
how to be loved 　is the hardest thing

want to try putting it in there  
don't know how to enter  
how would it be　to hit your hot spot?

\-- Cocco, "Bananas for Pandas" 「パンダにバナナ」

 

  
Someone was speaking, a series of sounds that blurred into a long, low murmur of distress. Natsume blinked, suddenly awake.  
  
His sleep-hazy gaze, peering through a melange of moonlight and shadow, encountered an unfamiliar space. There was no Nyanko-sensei, no desk. He jerked upright, alarm coursing through him. Then he remembered where he was: Natori's old room, on the second floor of his family residence. They'd spent the day doing another round of moving and cataloguing the books in Natori's storehouse. Nyanko-sensei, who'd flatly refused to share the room with them, was wrapped up in a blanket beside a portable heater on the first floor.  
  
The young master of the house was curled up on the futon beside his. His eyes were squeezed shut and his brows heavily creased. The sounds that had woken Natsume up were still leaking from his throat, past the barrier of his gritted teeth.  
  
"Shuuichi-san," Natsume said, shaking his shoulders. "Shuuichi-san!" There was no response. He gently slapped his face.  
  
Natori gasped, shuddering. Slowly he opened his eyes, which were dark and unfocused. It took a few moments before they settled on Natsume.  
  
"Takashi," he rasped. He pushed himself up with a grunt.  
  
"Was it a nightmare?" Natsume asked sympathetically, sitting up himself. "It sounded pretty bad."  
  
Natori smiled, faintly. "You could call it that, yes." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back sweat-damp strands from his forehead, and exhaled.  
  
"I think I'll get up for a while, but you should go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."  
  
Natsume looked at him. Moonlight filtering in through the thin curtain illuminated the tense set of his shoulders, the strain written across his features.  
  
"Would it be OK if I stayed up, too?" he ventured. "We don't have to talk about it. I...I'd just like to keep you company."  
  
Natori hesitated, his silence speaking for him. Natsume bit his lip, regretting the question.  
  
Having made it this far, the space between them remained an amorphous, variable thing. There were times when Natori's back felt like an unyielding impasse. There were times, like now, when Natori conjured up distance simply by saying nothing, his expression inscrutable and full of shadows. There were other times, too, when the shadows cleared and he tried to reach out. But there was a quiet, unyielding sadness anchored to his core. Natsume felt it as an undercurrent of melancholy, one that insisted on raising questions which defied easy answers.   
  
Natsume didn't resent Natori for being this way. All these were aspects of him he'd long been aware of. He only wished he knew what to do about it, other than summoning all the patience and care available to him. He wasn't sure if it was enough. A treacherous voice occasionally whispered that Natori would tire of dealing with someone the world still considered a child, even if that wouldn't be true for much longer. Child or not, the almost-eight years between them remained, a span of time that sometimes felt relentless. Anxiety thus lingered, a cold, hard speck in his heart.  
  
He still hadn't learned, he thought. When to hold back and observe before putting things out there. How to leave well enough alone, the way adults did.  
  
"It's all right, Shuuichi-san," he said, putting a smile on his face and a light tone to his voice. "Forget I asked. I'm sleepy, anyway. Don't stay up too late."  
  
Not waiting for Natori to respond, he lay down again and pulled the comforter up to his neck, turning to face the wall.  
  
Natori looked at him, and heaved a small sigh. Then he got up and went to the door, sliding it open and stepping out.  
  
*  
  
Natori walked to the small washroom down the corridor, shivering. He'd forgotten to wear his housecoat, and the winter night's air was frigid. He made himself turn the tap and splash water onto his face, the shock of the icy liquid clearing the dregs of dreams. Teeth chattering, he roughly dried himself with the hand towel hanging beside the sink. Then he reached for a small container on the shelf above, filled with the mixture of beeswax and camellia oil he used as an all-purpose balm in the dry seasons. He stuck his fingers inside and rubbed its contents over his lips, which felt suspiciously close to cracking. He did the same for his hands. Then he took a long, deep breath, and released it slowly. It made him feel better, despite the cold.  
  
He'd sleep-traversed a series of visions from various periods of his life, all of them featuring humans and youkai. He hadn't always been able to distinguish between them. The last dream he'd been caught in had been vivid and unpleasant enough that he'd panicked, for a moment, on seeing Natsume's face. It had looked so normal. Not in pain, not suffering from some assault Natori had been helpless to stop -  
  
He shook his head. He couldn't recall when he'd last had such an intense nightmare; not since he'd been a child, probably. Perhaps being in this house had induced it. At any rate, he'd regained enough calm that he no longer felt compelled to work in the study downstairs, in order to take his mind off things. He would have done that if he'd woken up by himself.  
  
But he wasn't alone.  
  
Although, he thought guiltily, he'd left Natsume that way.  
  
He shut the washroom door and headed back to the room.  
  
*  
  
Natsume, bundled up in the comforter, closed his eyes. He lay on his back, trying to relax. Sleep kept its distance. His mind insisted on pondering questions that all led back to Natori, one way or another.  
  
Natsume was familiar with nightmares. He'd woken up in the middle of some and needed to be rescued from others, usually by the various foster families he'd roused with his screams. These seldom visited him now, thankfully. And even if they did, his present self had Nyanko-sensei, and the Fujiwaras.  
  
Natori, he thought, woke up alone every time he had a nightmare. Even with Hiiragi and Sasago and Urihime around. Natsume knew very well that Natori wouldn't summon them, or let them comfort him - not even Hiiragi, watch over him though she might.  
  
Sounds interrupted his reverie: the door sliding open and shut again, a lot sooner than he'd expected. Footsteps padded over to the futon. Fabric rustled as Natori drew back his comforter and climbed in.  
  
"Takashi," he heard him say, softly. "Are you awake?"  
  
Natsume went very still, wondering whether or not to answer.  
  
He was enveloped in a chilly gust of air as his covers were lifted up, and a figure slipped in beside him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"Takashi?"  
  
There was a mouth next to Natsume's ear, the voice a warm, ticklish puff of air.  
  
Natsume yelped, his eyes flying open. They met Natori's face, mere inches away. A small, knowing smile was playing over his lips.  
  
He never stopped being handsome, no matter how often you looked at him. Natsume, unable to stop a flush from rising, was grateful for the low light.  
  
(This was only the second night they'd spent together, so far, and self-consciousness insisted on hanging around, raising suggestive eyebrows about how *near* Natori was, and how they might do in the flesh some of what Natsume had tried to imagine, this close -)  
  
"May I touch you?" Natori asked gently.  
  
"You already are," Natsume pointed out, embarrassment slipping into curtness.  
  
"May I do it some more, then?"  
  
"Do you really need to ask?" Natsume muttered, averting his gaze. He was sure his flush was apparent, now.   
  
A pair of long arms worked their way around him, one under his head and the other over his waist. And then there was hardly any space between them. Natsume nuzzled into Natori's neck, over the beat of his pulse. He was suddenly, overwhelmingly happy. He wasn't sure what Natori wanted to do, but he knew he was trying. And that was enough, for now.  
  
"I'm sorry about earlier," Natori murmured.  
  
"It's OK," Natsume said. He shifted position, pushing himself up a little further so he could look Natori in the eye. "I know you're used to waking up by yourself."  
  
"I am."  
  
"Nightmares can make you feel awful after you wake up."  
  
"They can, yes."  
  
He smiled. "Always so kind, Shuuichi-san."  
  
"You have a strange definition of 'kind'," Natori said wryly.  
  
"You wanted to be alone, but you still came back for me."  
  
"I forgot my coat, and it's cold."  
  
"You could have taken it and left again," Natsume pointed out, patiently. He'd gotten used to countering these sorts of verbal feints. It helped that they often made Natori sound more like one of his schoolmates than a grown-up.  
  
Natori didn't reply, but Natsume felt the arm around his waist tighten.  
  
He reached up and put a hand on Natori's face, trying to warm it. Then it occurred to him that all of Natori felt cold, too. In which case, instinct said, it made sense to kiss him. So he pulled his head down and pressed their bodies together. Natori's lips were soft, and the skin around his mouth smelled faintly sweet.  
  
Natori tensed. Then, slowly, he relaxed, shifting in order to draw him even closer.  
  
*  
  
In some ways, he felt, Natsume had more in common with the characters he tended to play than he himself did. He certainly excelled at taking initiative. Natori didn't know how he managed to be both self-conscious and not, moment to moment, slipping from one to the other. He was also, undoubtedly, a natural kisser.  
  
Natori wasn't sure how to feel about a high schooler possibly being better at lovemaking than he was, particularly since neither of them had had a serious relationship before. He knew he had more experience with physical intimacy, if nothing else. But affection came so naturally to Natsume, the way he was now, and he appeared to have no reservations about expressing his sentiments when he wanted to.  
  
The thought galled him, although he was the target of his own annoyance. So he pressed down on Natsume's lips, nudging them apart to deepen their kiss. Natsume made a small, surprised sound. He didn't resist, though, and locked his hands around Natori's neck, tentatively returning the intrusion into his mouth.  
  
They were both aroused. He could feel it, even through the thick flannel of their pyjamas. He let the hand around Natsume's waist stray down to his thigh, and shift over to his groin, his fingers seeking -  
  
Natsume ended the kiss, jerking away.  
  
"Takashi?" he asked, startled.  
  
Natsume shook his head, flushing again. He looked his age in that instant, his eyes uncertain, anxiety written all over his face. Natori, gripped by the chill of sobriety, felt his heart twinge in contrition.  
  
He often forgot. He didn't think about it much, in fact, because he didn't usually see Natsume as a child. He said things to Natsume that he never would to anyone else, and he had the sense that Natsume did the same, too. But no matter how much they thought of each other as equals, some lines would remain. Maybe he had no business trying to cross them.  
  
Yorishima's face, eyes stern, briefly crossed his mind. He had no rejoinder to its judgment.  
  
"Let's stop here," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad -"  
  
"No!" Natsume interrupted. "It's not like that, Shuuichi-san. I -" He broke off mid-protest, the flush deepening, and pressed a hand over his eyes.  
  
"I - this feels...*good*. I don't - I don't know what to do about it." He took a deep breath. "It's embarrassing," he continued, his voice wavering on a higher note than usual. "Maybe you're used to...to doing this, but I'm not."  
  
Natori stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then laughter bubbled up in him, escaping into chuckles.  
  
Natsume returned the stare. "You're awful," he sputtered, slapping Natori's hands away. "Is this funny? Are you *trying* to hurt my feelings?"  
  
"No, no, that's not it at all," he hastily clarified, reaching out to pull Natsume back to him. "Sorry! Sorry, Takashi." He stroked the back of his head, running his fingers through soft brown strands of hair. "I just wasn't expecting you to say that. It was so adorable."  
  
Natsume smacked him in the ribs, a little harder than necessary.  
  
"Ouch," Natori said, cheerfully. Then he sobered.  
  
"I'm glad you didn't feel bad, but I still don't want to do anything that might make you uncomfortable," he murmured, stroking a thumb over the curve of Natsume's cheek. "Part of me feels responsible for letting this happen."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Natsume nodded. "I know you sometimes worry that we're doing something wrong. Because I'm still in school." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. "I can see that...I mean, I understand why most other people would think so. But I don't know if that's right, especially if all they're worried about is a number. I'm graduating soon."  
  
He paused. "Besides, you're really not that old, right?"  
  
"How very reassuring," Natori said dryly.  
  
Natsume glanced away, and then back at him. "I've got other things to worry about."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like what *you* think." Natsume bit his lip. He was still flushed, but his gaze held steady. "That's what matters to me. Because I know how I feel."  
  
"How do you feel, then?"  
  
"I want you, Shuuichi-san."  
  
He'd said it without a trace of hesitation. Natori suddenly found it hard to breathe; he swallowed, letting his gaze linger over the utter seriousness of Natsume's face and voice, the brightness of his eyes in the shadowy light. He was so lovely, like this. He always was.  
  
His heart clenched again, for a different reason. He almost felt like blushing, too.  
  
"Stop taking my lines," he said roughly.  
  
And, once more, they'd closed the space between them.  
  
*  
  
They were kissing again, fiercer and more urgent, the comforters pushed off for greater ease of access to each other's bodies. Natori's hands found their way under his shirt, his fingers exploring the length of his back, the base of his spine, skirting along the start of where it curved into his behind. Then his mouth was on the shell of Natsume's ear, his tongue flicking across its contours, his teeth nipping gently on the lobe. He couldn't stop a gasp escaping, or the shudder that tore through him as Natori's voice whispered syllables he couldn't process into his ear. It might have been his name, or a confession. He kept his eyes tightly shut. He didn't want to think about Natori looking at him like this, and he didn't know what would happen if he saw his face, right now.  
  
He hadn't been lying about this feeling good. The panic he'd felt earlier had been overwhelmed by more sensations, all pleasant. He felt giddy, acutely aware of the pressure between his legs, the sweet, tingly warmth that had started in his belly and spread throughout his limbs, his skin, everywhere Natori was touching him. It wasn't anything like he'd imagined.  
  
He'd thought about this on his own, of course. He'd taken care of his own needs as they'd arisen, picturing Natori's face every time, on the nights that Nyanko-sensei stayed out late. It had felt strange, the first few times. He'd avoided seeing Natori in person for as long as possible after each...incident, feeling vaguely like things were somehow getting out of hand.  
  
Then there had been an afternoon of slow-going fishing, when Nishimura and Kitamoto had started a conversation about this very topic. (To wit, Nishimura had seen fit to bring up a recent rash of morning erections as a phenomenon worth disclosing, while Kitamoto had tried to kill the topic, without much success, and eventually joined in.) Along with Tanuma, he'd squirm-sweated his way through all of it, including the discussion about hand techniques. But he'd at least confirmed that this wasn't a particularly problematic reaction to be having, especially with a clear object of affection, and -  
  
He froze, eyes flying open. There were hands pulling down his pyjama bottoms, freeing them from his legs. Before he could say anything one of them had worked through the flap of his boxers, and then long, warm fingers were holding him *there*, a thumb rubbing over the tip of his length. He curled forward, burying his face in Natori's shoulder to suppress the sounds rising in his throat.  
  
"You don't need to be quiet," he heard Natori say. His voice, low and slightly hoarse, stoked the heat coursing through his body.  
  
Natori's other hand pushed his head away, tipping his chin up. Their eyes met, and the hand moving on him below suddenly stopped. He could feel his heart pounding. He'd never seen this look on Natori's face before, intent and strangely vulnerable.  
  
"Is this really okay?" Natori asked, the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks. Natsume could hear the unsaid part of the question:  _for me to do_.  
  
He nodded, unable to bring himself to speak. And then, holding Natori's gaze, he reached out to press his hand against Natori's groin. What he found there was hot and hard and possibly slightly larger than his own.  
  
Natori gasped, sounding genuinely shocked.  
  
Hearing that encouraged him, perversely. So he did the necessary fumbling with pyjamas and briefs, until he'd manoeuvred his hands into the same position as Natori's on him. It did and didn't feel different from his own. He couldn't think; his mind was a fog of adrenaline and chaos. He gave a tentative squeeze, mimicking what Natori had done to him minutes before, and listened to the moan it produced, his heart like a hammer in his chest.  
  
He could hear their ragged, shallow breathing, the occasional gulp as they both worked on each other. It didn't take either of them long to finish. He arched his back as he came, unable to stop the cry that dragged itself from between his gritted teeth. Moments later he felt the twitch and the pulse of Natori's cock in his hand, the gush of warm fluid onto his palm and fingers. Somehow he retained just enough presence of mind to cup his hand, hurriedly, trying to stop it from getting onto the sheets.  
  
"Takashi," Natori said, his voice still rough. "I don't have tissues around...here, just use my trousers, they'll be easy to wash."  
  
He complied obediently. They wiped off their hands on Natori's pyjama bottoms, leaving streaks on the navy-blue flannel. A loose, languid sense had settled over him. Natsume half-wondered if it had been a dream. But his hand was very definitely sticky, and he was starting to shiver in the cold air as he cooled down.   
  
Natori shook his head, tossing aside the stained trousers, and pulled the comforter up over them.

"You really are nothing but trouble," he said. Then he leaned over and kissed him, gently.  
  
*  
  
"Shuuichi-san...there's more to this thing, right?"  
  
He looked over at Natsume, quirking his mouth. "You mean, to sex?"  
  
The colour returned to Natsume's cheeks. "I...I just thought that -"  
  
"That we would go all the way?" Natori finished, raising a brow at him. "How bold, Takashi. As you so often are."  
  
Natsume's blush deepened, and he laughed, reaching out to tweak his nose.  
  
"I'm just teasing. It's not that I didn't want to, of course. Next time. That needs preparation, and I don't have any of those things. I didn't think we'd need them tonight."  
  
"Shuuichi-san," Natsume said quietly. "You've...done this with men too, then? Not only women."  
  
He hesitated, unsure how to answer. Habit prodded him to whitewash things. He took a deep breath, resisting.  
  
"If you really want to know, my previous experiences were only with men."  
  
He watched as Natsume processed that information, initial confusion slipping into a strangely thoughtful air.  
  
"Are you surprised?"  
  
"...Not really," Natsume finally said. "That makes sense, somehow. I don't know how to put it."  
  
"You're saying I'm a bad actor?" Natori sighed. "Oh dear."  
  
"Of course not," Natsume protested. "Just - you act the roles like you're supposed to, but you don't - you never try to talk to any of your fellow actresses outside of work, and..."  
  
"Oh? How would you know?"  
  
"Hiiragi told me."  
  
"She needs to stop telling you things when I'm not around," Natori sighed again, rubbing his temples, but didn't deny the observation.  
  
"But you don't need to tell me about what you did before," Natsume continued quickly. "I don't really think I want to know. Not now, anyway."  
  
"Takashi," he said, brushing a finger across his mouth. "I don't feel this is anything I've done before at all." Sensing he still needed to explain, he tried to elaborate. "There isn't anyone else like you. Not to me."

It didn't sound convincing at all, to him. But he felt Natsume's hands grip his shirt. He'd dropped his gaze, the light fringes of his eyelashes skimming the high, delicate ridges of his cheekbones. And then he'd nestled up against Natori, like a cat burrowing into a blanket.  
  
Natori breathed out, and stroked his head, slowly and softly, allowing himself a smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you really wanted them to go all the way, see [Slip of the Tongue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12273726/chapters/29629074).
> 
> If you want the headcanon of Natori's Previous Time(s), see [Three Takes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12577260) and [Interlude](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12273726/chapters/28541628).


End file.
